


I tried. In the end, I did.

by scienceandcompassion



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Abigail - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Jack - Freeform, Oh, Self-Indulgent, Tears, arthur still dies, dutch stays with him, i'm horrible at tagging so, just deal with this thanks, lots of mentions of hosea, mentions of john marston, micah gets what he deserves, shoots micah, thinking of the good ol' times, tilly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scienceandcompassion/pseuds/scienceandcompassion
Summary: On the floor, Arthur Morgan was taking in wheezing breaths, coughs rattling his bruised and beaten body, though the man stumbling just behind him showed the same wear and tears. For a half-dead man, Dutch felt some twinge of proudness within him to see the boy - a man now, he supposed - put so much effort, even in his last moments. The rat, and yes, that's what Micah decidedly was, stood in front of both of them, Arthur at his feet, the gun he was trying to reach thrown to the side. There are Arthur's words in his head, and it's then that he realises his shortcomings.Two rounds are in Micah's skull before he can figure out what's what.





	I tried. In the end, I did.

On the floor, Arthur Morgan was taking in wheezing breaths, coughs rattling his bruised and beaten body, though the man stumbling just behind him showed the same wear and tears. For a half-dead man, Dutch felt some twinge of proudness within him to see the boy - a man now, he supposed - put so much effort, even in his last moments. The rat, and yes, that's what Micah decidedly was, stood in front of both of them, Arthur at his feet, the gun he was trying to reach thrown to the side. There are Arthur's words in his head, and it's then that he realises his shortcomings. 

Two rounds are in Micah's skull before he can figure out what's what. 

Even Arthur, spluttering and coughing like he is, seems surprised by that outcome. But everything clicks in Dutch's head, so suddenly it almost brings along a headache. He realises how badly he has messed up, how badly he has strayed from the man he tried to be. How selfish he had become, his original search for money becoming consuming until it left the old Dutch behind. Chapped lips open to question Dutch, but he's quickly settling on the floor aside the boy - his boy, his poor, poor son - one hand gently settling by his hair. "It's okay, son," Dutch finds himself murmuring softly, ignoring how each agonizing breath is leaving torturous pain in his own heart. For now, his hand gently runs through Arthur's hair, into the long locks, positioning him so he can rest his head on his lap. This was never how any of it was supposed to go, but it's a twisted fate. At the very least, the gunshots have died down - no doubt they would assume that any remnants of Dutch's gang have fled as fast as they could - but he could never leave Arthur behind.

Both eyes remain on the sunset, both in quiet contemplation, Arthur coming to peace with his own death - he did what he at least aimed to do: he helped as many people as he could on the way out, helped Tilly, helped John, Abigail, Jack. Though it's a shame it had to end this way, he knew his Tuberculosis was fatal. Dutch is less resigned to this fate, he longs to be able to fix it, able to fix Arthur up like he usually does. This time, however, he knows he can't, no matter how much it truly pains him. And it does, it really does. "I'm sorry-" Dutch starts, but Arthur shakes his head as best he can, another round of coughing escaping him. When he speaks, his words are raggedy and pained, more so than normal, his voice scratching, "Don't. I don't want it," he wheezed, and Dutch can only slowly nod. Eyes remain on the sunset, for a mere moment, before he closes his eyes, and he reminisces. Both hands are running through Arthur's hair, now, gently petting his hair, trying to ease his death.

"You always meant the world to me - you were my son. Are my son," The words hurt to come out, and though Dutch normally has a way with words, they seemingly don't want too. "Hosea and I... We always said that... ever since we found you. I remember the day - we were all young, even me and the other old fool," he says fondly, noting the way Arthur's lips are twitching into a small, fond smile, clearly reminiscing too. "I knew there was somethin' about you, even then. No matter how young you were - you were the first kid to ever get that close to stealing one of my revolvers, I suppose," he chuckles softly as the warmth of the memory washes over him, eyes fluttering shut once more so he can remember. Remember the day clearly, actually.

It was him and Hosea back then, no full gang, and they had stopped off at a saloon, for a rest. No matter how many drinks he'd had in him, Dutch was always rather aware, though he could certainly hold his drinks. But he hadn't even had that many, when he felt, at the last second, his gun lift from its holster. He'd whipped around to see a kid there, blue eyes widened, though there was a boisterous expression on his features, wild in a way that couldn't be tamed. He'd swiftly taken his gun back, given the kid a quick chiding, though there was an amused expression upon his features. 

Something about this unnamed kid made him curious, so at first, he inquired as to where his family was - Arthur had looked somewhat embarrassed, gesturing to a drunken group of men, arms slung around each other's shoulders, clearly only able to buy that drink. And that - that was how he joined the gang.

"Teachin' you was always hard, Arthur," Dutch said, with a soft chuckle, "You were stubborn but eager to listen as well. An odd mix, always was." He peered down at Arthur's face, the ragged breaths still taken in, the soft smile on his lips remaining. Arthur's eyes were focused on the sunset - he'd always enjoyed the views, and it was where he'd often be found around camp. When he wasn't doing pretty much everything for the camp - always a good kid. That was the thought that brought tears to Dutch's eyes, but he closed his eyes, let himself submerge into the memories just as the dying man was doing. "God, I remember when you got that camera - you'd just found it. Didn't leave it for the next week, actually, but... I hadn't seen you smile like that in quite some time."

"I... I was looking through my supplies. I found that picture, again, of you me and Hosea. You both insisted it was proper, so proper we did - it was like our own family portrait. In the original Van der Linde's gang, I guess." Another quiet chuckle escaped his lips, and a shaky version of the noise escaped Arthur's, too. "I wish we could go back there. It was an easier time - no Pinkertons on our hide, just you me and Hosea, running from the world. But we... I know, we don't get what we want in this world."

"But that's fine. I'm proud of you, kid," Dutch said, quite earnestly at that, reflecting on just how much Arthur Morgan had done for all of them - even Micah, the bastard. The sight of the rat's body lay nearby, blood spilling from his forehead was a sight he'd reflect on a sickly amount - though Arthur was not one for revenge at all times, he decided that this was a luxury he could afford. "You were the best son I could have asked for, even when I didn't appreciate that. You've trusted me for twenty goddamn years, and it's my fault I threw that away, but... But thank you, Arthur Morgan. Thank you for backing me up when needed, but second guessing my ideas when needed. For never betraying me, for never leaving camp. For never losing hope in me. For keeping the camp running when I couldn't. For always giving your share to the camp, for giving food to the camp even when you were sick and pale. For doing nothing but try to help, for changing yourself. For everything, son. Absolutely everything. We ain't the best people, but... You're a better man that I could ever be."

Their gaze on the sunset, Arthur gave his last few ragged breaths, surrounded by the man he considered a father. The man who considered him a son. It was warm, at least, and he was grateful to spend his last few moments on this Earth in peace, sorting out his final worries and anxieties. It was more comfortable then he could ever wish for.

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first time writing a fanfiction so don't judge me too harshly-  
> this is mainly waffle i dont know im struggling with focus right now but i've been obsessed with rdr2 recently and this came to mind so uh  
> constructive criticism only please oof-  
> i'm probably gonna make so more rdr2 fanfics so stick around if yall want some hm


End file.
